


We Got Time

by TheWolvenStorm



Category: The Expanse (TV), The Expanse Series - James S. A. Corey
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Oral Sex, S4 Speculation, Sex, Smut, Zero G Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolvenStorm/pseuds/TheWolvenStorm
Summary: But, they were getting closer to Uranus. Closer to the ring. And as he looks at her, he can practically see the doubts crawling through her mind. Sees it in the subtle way she tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth. In the hard swallow and setting of her jaw. In the way her eyes won’t lock with his. A thousand fears growing stronger with each kilometer they crawl towards the Ring.Will her bones crumble as soon as she steps outside the safety of the Roci? Will she go mad the first time she sees the horizon? Will she choke on the free air?“Naomi…” he says. Trying to force her to look at him. Trying to force every bit of reassurance he can into his voice. Into his touch. Into the soft kiss he presses to her lips. “We got time.”
Relationships: Jim Holden/Naomi Nagata
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	We Got Time

**Author's Note:**

> *I know absolutely nothing about future computers, all I know is that when windows is locked down due to updates, it's time to fuuuucckkk*
> 
> You stoked for S4 Screaming FireHawks?
> 
> For Expanse Hype Week Day 4: Churn

The Roci’s systems began shutting down one at a time. The lights in the galley cycling off, followed by a diminishing hum as the drive shuts down and the thrust falls away. 

“What’s going on?” Jim calls out into his hand terminal, accessing the MC1 channel and broadcasting it out through the entire ship. 

“Working on it.” Naomi answers back a half second later. Her voice tight and focused as she tries to locate the problem. 

They were on a long haul, burning towards Uranus, towards the Ring. And while they had UN clearance to make the trip, they had also made many enemies in their years as freelancers and an unexpected shut down like this could mean that someone had finally caught them. 

With no immediate response from Naomi, he quickly slurps down the last drops of his coffee, the liquid already beginning to rise out of the mug in amorphous globb of steaming brown liquid, before floating to the ladder and climbing up to the operations deck. 

He would never be as good in Zero G as Naomi. While time and training had beaten out much of the clumsiness micro gravity caused, he still lacked the flowing grace of her movements. Her nimbleness as she floats effortlessly between monitors, executing commands as she tries to resolve the problem. 

“Status?” he asks, recognizing a frustration in her brow. 

“Routine Maintenance,” she almost growls. 

“What?” 

“It’s built deep into the Roci’s hardware. Every couple of years, systems shut down to ‘de-bug’.

At least they aren’t in danger, unless…

“Environmental? Atmo?” 

“I should be able to halt it-.” she answers, her face turning slightly to him as she taps at the monitors. Lines of code scrolling down the display as she rummages through the deepest systems of the ship. “Just… Like… That.” As she says it her code executes. 

After a moment the lines of code disappear, leaving a blank screen, awaiting input. 

“Whats happening?” 

Naomi sighs heavily and turns to him, her magboots snapping her to the floor. “Sorry, this is… Its prompting us to boot everything to the last state it was before the debug ran. I didn’t think it would do this…” She looks sorrowful, guilty. “I just needed to stop it before it-” 

“Hey. It’s not a problem… we’re all safe now right?” 

“Yes, its just, the system will take some time to cycle everything back up.” 

“How long?”  
  


She purses her lips and looks mournfully at the screen. “A half a day. Maybe more. Sorry Jim.” 

He lets his eyes sweep over her. Looking at her long, lithe limbs, and sharp features. Those deep dark almond eyes that he has fallen into over and over again in their years together. She looks defeated. Tired. 

How long had that look been there? How long had he failed to see it? 

In the same instant, that he notices that weariness, he knows why it’s there. They were heading to a planet on the other side of the ring. But even if this wasn't an alien world, even if there wasn’t the unknown bearing down upon. Naomi would still have that look in her eyes. 

They were going to a planet. With its own weather systems, and atmosphere and plant life. And its own gravity. 

He takes her hand and brings her close. The Zero G pulling her to him with ease. 

She’d already shared her fears with him. He almost turned down this job for her. Because it could hurt her. He could never hurt her. Not again. 

In the end, she was the one who refused to back down, refused to back away. Took on the challenge with the bravery and brilliance he loved about her. And he’d done his best to support her. Working out with her. Stocking their supplies with expensive high protein-high calcium food stuffs to build her muscles, and strengthen her bones. Encouraging her. Dismissing any idea that would suggest that she’d be less valuable on this mission. 

“It’s fine.” He answers cupping her face in his hands, tracing his thumbs across her cheeks. “We got time. There’s no rush.”

But, they were getting closer to Uranus. Closer to the ring. And as he looks at her, he can practically see the doubts crawling through her mind. Sees it in the subtle way she tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth. In the hard swallow and setting of her jaw. In the way her eyes won’t lock with his. A thousand fears growing stronger with each kilometer they crawl towards the Ring. 

_Will her bones crumble as soon as she steps outside the safety of the Roci? Will she go mad the first time she sees the horizon? Will she choke on the free air?_

“Naomi…” he says. Trying to force her to look at him. Trying to force every bit of reassurance he can into his voice. Into his touch. Into the soft kiss he presses to her lips. “We got time.” 

At first she is tentative. Still. Not Unresponsive only trapped in her head. Her brilliant mind still focussed on the Roci’s debug. On turning all her worries around over and over again. Examining them from a million angles until she has mapped every part of them. 

But then, she exhales and relaxes, allowing his simple kiss to grow and widen. Her mouth slanting against his. The press of lips becoming a melding of mouths as her magboots detach from the floor and she leans closer. Seeking his comfort. 

The thought opens up an ache in heart. An ache that is always there whenever he looks at her. A tenderness he knows is love. To know that she comes to him for comfort, that he can give that to her. That he is her home, as much as she is his. 

He wraps his arms around her, squeezing her against him. One arm circling around her shoulders, the other around her waist. Keeping her tight and close and _his_. The quiet hum lulling them into a moment only meant for them. Where the raw edges of their souls can meet and meld, where their hearts make room for each other. 

“Hey Hoss… What’s going on?” Alex’s drawl rings through the comms, bringing him back to himself. 

He sighs and leans over, tabbing the comms to reply. “The Roci’s taking a break, and so are we.” Answering bluntly, in a measured practiced tone. One that doesn’t come off rude, but doesn’t invite questions either. 

“Understood.” 

He can hear the wink in Alex’s voice but chooses not to acknowledge it. They are a family, and while privacy is limited aboard a ship, this moment is only for them. He smiles and presses his forehead against hers. 

“We got time.” he repeats after a long minute. Rocking back and forth in the slow space of zero G. “How do you want to spend it?” 

With a subtle smirk against his lips, she nods, the smile growing wider, fuller, brighter before erupting into a laugh as she pushes off him. Her weightless body floating away from him. Toward the ladder. 

For a moment, he stands blinking, confused. Wondering if she wants him to follow. Or she wants to spend this time working out, or playing those hacking games she plays on her comms. But a glee-filled giggle echoes through opps as she spins in null gravity, tossing him an upside down wink as before she pulls herself down the ladder. 

And the chase is on.

He demagnetizes his boots, and pushes off the chair. The old injury in his knee twinging a bit as he springs off. Grabbing the ladder. Grabbing a rung. Kicking off a bulkhead. Snatching her boot to try and pull her towards him. 

She laughs, and its amazing, just like she is. The round swell of her ass distracting him as he seizing her knee to climb her in the race to their bunk. 

But she’s smarter than him, so much smarter than he could ever be. And while he has become accustomed to life in microgravity, she was born in it. Her movements graceful and innate. The long lithe leg he doesn’t have a hold of stretching up to the ceiling and magnetizing. A quick twist freeing her from his grasp. Laughter bubbling out of her as she easily catches a door frame and pulls herself along the along the corridor, crooking a slender finger towards him in the universal gesture of ‘come here and get me’. 

She’ll always be more agile than him in zero g. But physics are still physics, despite what the protomolecule says. And he’s still stronger than she is. Which means he can still cover more distance with each push off the bulkheads, and no matter how many times she wriggles free, he can always catch her. 

Especially when she wants him to. 

Naomi spins a little pirouette at their door, her teeth sinking mischeviously into her bottom lip as she flashes a knowing look back to him. He practically tackles her into their bunk. Colliding into her, her arms open to catch him as momentum carries them into the room. 

“Gotcha” Shooting his hand out to stop them before they crack their heads against the corner of the small closet. Her body quaking with loud fits laughter as she wraps her arms around his waist, snorting and shaking as she presses kisses into his neck. He smiles down at her, before kicking them into a slow spin in the center of the room. “What’s so funny?” 

“You,” she giggles. “It’s like you’re trying to swim at me.” Her face squinching up as she nuzzles his nose. “It’s cute.” Her hand cupping the side of his face. “You’re cute.” 

“You’re beautiful,” he answers pressing a kiss to her palm. Holding it for a moment before taking her hand and planting more across her knuckles. Letting the joy of each others company shift and swell as the kisses to her knuckles become kisses on her neck. 

Fingers searching for buttons and clasps and zippers. Fumbling awkwardly as he tries to undo his own mag boots without breaking away from her. Their kisses briefly pausing, when one falls to the floor. Magnetizing upright with a careless heavy klunk. 

With her, he’s more delicate, more careful. Not because she is fragile. Its a stereotype he grew up with. The idea that all Belters are brittle. No, he’s careful because she is treasured, and he will prove it over and over again. 

After all, they have time. 

His hands trace the long seams of the purple jumpsuit she wears, letting himself slip down her body. Locking eyes with her as he undoes the bulky boots, as if they were glass slippers. Stripping away the thick spacer socks as if they were stockings. And taking her feet in his hands, gently squeezing and massaging. Watching her reactions. Watching her eyes slide closed and enjoying her satisfied groan as he works her. Rolling the balls of her feet with the pads of his thumbs. 

He’d done it enough times over the past weeks as she bulked up in preparation for Ilus. After she trained for hours in the Roci’s small gymnasium. Martians always train at a full G, and she always hurt after. Not just soreness and muscle ache. But in her feet. In her weak moments, she said it felt like the bones in her feet were fractured, splintered. Like they had been shattered and then glued back together. 

If there was gravity, he’d do a better job of it. Kneel before her, rub her feet, before moving up to her calves. Then thighs. It was something Father Joseph used to do for Mother Elise. One of the many small things he did to show her he loved her. Sit in front of her and rub her feet whenever she looked like she had rough day. Spin her around while she was cooking and dance with her. Surprise her with wildflowers on the table. 

_Had Naomi ever received flowers?_

Maybe there would be some growing on Ilus. Some new special species of flower he could pick just for her. 

Her foot presses against his chest, and he looks up to find her smirking wickedly. With brilliant flash of teeth, she kicks off him. Pirouetting as she tugs down the zipper of her jumpsuit, letting the top half fall and fold over and hang around her hips. The sleeves flaring out like a purple tutu as she spins out of the purple fabric gracefully. Provocatively.

“You have too many clothes on, Jim” 

Eagerly, she grabs the corners of his shirt and strips him of it in a flash. Tearing at his clothes. Rushed and eager. His own dingy jumpsuit joining the floating detritus of fabric littering the space of their room. 

But he catches her hands, as she reaches to pull off the thin tank top she wears beneath her jumper.

“We have time…” he reminds her, slowing their momentum. Slowing the heat and the hunger that grows in his belly. There’s time for desperation. For need. For unbridled lust. For their hedonist lizard brains to take over their human bodies. 

How often is there time to just explore? To build and bridge the space between them? To find the raw edges of each others souls and figure out how to fuse them together? 

He climbs her with kisses. Starting below her bellybutton and moving up the plane of her stomach. Over the faint fibrous lines of discoloration. Stripes from the baby she had stolen from her. Marks he had been too thick skulled to notice till he thought to look for them. 

Hands smoothing up her sides, lifting her up to him, gathering her tank top up. Kissing up her sternum, using the elaborate pattern she’d tattooed on her chest to mark his path. Drawing it over her head. 

Circling each dark round nipple with his tongue. Teasing the puckering peaks. Sucking, slobbering, swallowing. 

Her hands tangle in his hair, her back arches to his mouth, head thrown back as he laves over her. A groan resonates in her chest and he echos it. Tugging at her with his teeth before soothing away the hurt with the flicking and fluttering and flattening of his tongue. 

She’d cut her hair awhile ago. The tight coiled ringlets he adored cropped close her head. She hadn’t offered an explanation, and it was her choice. It made her look more serious, more professional. Less like a Belter… 

The thought saddens him. There was a part of him that missed the splashes of color she’d scatter through her curls. It was a signal to others of her rebellious streak. A warning side that she was dangerous. 

Had he taken that away from her, somehow? Taken her away from where she felt fulfilled? From where she would have thrived? From where she was respected? Had he diminished her brightness? 

Her hand cups his face, long slender fingers brushing his ears. Small touches that send a shiver down his spine as she drags him back to her lips. Bringing him up from the adoration of her chest piece to worship her lips. Bringing him close to her. Her spindley belter frame wrapping around him. Rubbing over him. 

His lizard brain electrifying with the contact. The thin fabric of his shorts doing little and less to conceal his want for her as she rolls her hips against his. His hands grabbing her legs. Groping her thighs. Creeping around to hold her by her ass. Digging into her soft flesh. Her dark skin molding between his fingers. Mouths devouring as he guides her movement. The remaining layers between them creating delicious friction in the churn of their hips. 

Hands bracing against his shoulders. Mouths open and melding. Heat growing in his groin. Biting out a swear as she stops sucking on his tongue and starts sucking on his neck. Teeth scraping his stubble, leaving the skin raw and red and ready for her lips. 

Dizzy and disoriented, hanging in space, losing himself in sensation. Blood rushing away from his head even as their slow spin leaves him upside down. Anchored only to her. By her skin between his fingers, by the closeness of their bodies. By the little gasps she makes, and the heavy pants of his own breathing. 

It’s a distraction, a very… _very_ good distraction. 

Any other time he’d fall for her tricks. Any other time he’d let her take control. But this isn’t one of those times. This is their time. Their moment. When they reach Ilus there won’t be any. Not with their track record. Not with the chaos that always seems to follow them. Soon they’ll be through the ring, soon they’ll be treading new territory. New space and there won’t be time for moments like this. 

Finding the corner of their bed with his foot, he pushes back, reversing their spin. Suddenly looming over her. Her surprised noise muffled as he crushes his face against hers. Slanting and widening as his fingers hook into the elastic of her bottoms. Catching her bottom lip with his teeth as he retraces his steps back down her body. Dragging the offending garmet with him as he moves. 

From her lips to her jaw, down the column of her throat, kissing along the sharp edge of her collarbone. Sucking one dark nipple into his mouth, as he pinches the other. Making her squawk and swat his head when he gives her a little nip. 

“Stop it,” she orders in a mocking tone. “You’re teasing.” 

“That the point.” he retorts, a broad smile stretching his face before he flicks it again with his tongue. 

Naomi rolls her eyes and laughs, pushing down on his shoulders, wrestling him as they float through the room. He surrenders or… maybe she’s just gotten that much stronger by working out but, she gets him where she wants him. Face to face with her hips, as she spreads her thighs open for him. 

Gossamer threads cling to her tight curls. Evidence of her own desire. She looks down at him, breath hitched with anticipation as he scrapes his stubble over her thighs. Fingers brushing up the back of her legs, making her shiver and squirm. Teasing her with faint kisses and little licks. 

Her cunt swollen and sticky, like a ripe plum ready to be bitten. 

_Had Naomi ever eaten a plum?_

There was a tree on his family’s farm. Father Tom hated them. His family could never eat enough of them, and they couldn’t sell the excess because of some regulation or another. During summers, most of them would simply fall to the ground with an overripe splatter and more than once he’d been scolded for accidentally tracking that pink-purple plum pulp into the house. 

She groans as he smears his tongue over the whole of her slit with long flat lick. Gathering the the ripe juice and spreading it around. Swallowing, sucking. Drawing at her folds, capturing them with his lips. Gently biting the soft flesh of her thighs, scratching at them with his beard. Scraping the sensitive skin. Making her shudder and squirm in his grip. Nudging her with his nose. Inhaling her. 

“Jim…” Her hands tangle in his hair with a gasp. Not a desperate curling clutch. Not the tight tug of her trying to tumble over the edge. Instead, her fingers threads through his hair. Nails finding his scalp. Scratching. Petting. Praising as he splits her open with his tongue. Finding her small pearly target with practiced ease.

He’s so focused on his task, he doesn’t notice that she’s folded herself over him until she starts struggling with his shorts. Shucking them off with few futile kicks, they twists and turn and fold themselves around each other. Anchoring themselves to each other with hands on hips, and mouths open and devouring. Binary points of pleasure locked in orbit with each other. 

It’s her hand first, gripping around the base of his shaft and slowly pumping. The rough calluses a mechanic’s hand scraping against the underside of his cockhead. The strong squeeze divine agony. And then there’s her mouth. Warm and wet and perfect. Wrapping around him, inching down with each stroke until it meets her fist. The subtle sharp of her teeth catching the flare of his cock. 

Her efforts distract him from his own, and it takes a few delirious minutes to refocus his attention on her. Focus on pointing his tongue and circling her clit as hers goes flat and wide over his head. Focus on swiping and gathering the growing wet and spreading it around as the lush noise of her saliva coating his cock fills his ears. Focus on probing her with his fingers, finding that swollen spot inside and pushing against it as her hand cups his balls, squeezing and tugging in just the right way. 

Naomi lets out a noise, a whimper through her nose. Her legs start to shake and shudder, her thighs squeezing his head. He wraps his arms around them, strengthening the lock of his lips to hers as her hips churn and grind on his face. Targeting that small fleshy bud. Fluttering over it with precise rhythm as he builds her pleasure. 

He feels it too. Growing tight in his belly. Like a drive engine speeding up, gaining Gs until something has to give. She squeals around his shaft, the vibration sudden and sharp. Huffing warm breath tickling his balls as she coils and quakes. Pride surging through him as her tight wall clench around his fingers, and her lips pop off his cock with a crying a moan and a stream of swears.

In Zero G, its easy to capture all the weeping wet dripping from her cunt. The clear threads clinging to his beard and her curls. Easy to clean her up with broad strokes of his tongue. To ease her back to herself as she limply floats in a boneless heap above him. 

She smiles against his skin. A slow contented smile that, at this angle, he feels more than he actually sees. A small satisfied grunt escapes with her effort as she orient herself upright. And her eyes seem to telegraph her intentions. To capture him and bring him close. To kiss him, with lips and teeth and tongue. To tangle herself around him. To loop her long lithe legs around his waist and to brace herself against his shoulders. To lower herself onto him. To engulf him slowly. 

To take her time. 

His forehead rests on the crook of her neck, arms wrapped tightly around her. Tight as the hot walls surrounding him, flexing and bunching, rising and falling. Moving together in a slow churn of their hips. The rock and the rhythm rotating them throughout the room. 

It’s funny. This act of joining, of mating. A primal lizard urge that is still so utterly human. To embrace and entwine and enjoy. To share in these intricate intimacies and become part of one another. To love in every way. To take the vast burden of humanity and narrow it down to one person.

His lips press to her pulse, and her breath is heavy on his ear. His name whispered in a haunting half-plea that grows in urgency and demand. The same plea he feels deep inside his body. A need for more friction and more heat and more _her_. 

With a kick to the crash couch they’re up against the wall. Or rather _he_ has her up against the wall. Finding leverage between his foot against the bunk and her back against the wall. Her still weightless body pinned, her nails clawing into the nape of his neck, her legs spread around him. He might be holding onto her, keeping her locked in place, but she _surrounds_ him. Her taste, her smell, her eyes, her voice seeped into every pore of his being.

And he cannot help but give in to her desires, into her demands. To feed her friction. To make room for himself inside of her. To fill her with him. Deep and deliberate. Hard and heavy. 

Her nails carve raised red ribbons down his back, as she moves with him. Swiveling her hips against him, swirling one way, than the other. Rocking back and forth as he plunges in an out. She buries a moan into his skin and he responds by grabbing a leg and hitching hit up higher. Opening her up wider. Her hands grabbing his face, forcing him to look into her deep dark eyes, as her eyelashes flutter before pinching shut. Her impossibly tight walls clamping and clutching him. The press around him matching the pressure inside him.

Her cries of distress mixing with lewd noise of wet skin slapping. Her pretty petals ravaged red. Her swollen sopping cunt swallowing him as he burrows into her. Forcing him to climb higher. To drive harder. To dig deeper.

Pitching into the black where there is nothing but the roar of blood, the tight grip around his cock and their tender throaty sounds echoing. Long arms reaching and wrapping around him. Mouths crashing, kisses ebbing and flowing. Souls swelling, joining and sealing.

His forehead rests against her sternum, against the intricate pattern of tattoos. Sweat beads down between her breasts. Her fingers comb through his hair. Her own breathing labored and slow as he lifts his head. 

“Naomi...” 

“Shh. Don’t say it.” she chides gently. Coaxing him back down against her as they hang in a limp pile of limbs, floating in their quarters. “We have time.” Pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll have time for all of it.” 


End file.
